My take on having a rather exotic.....friend with rather exotic tastes.
Vastanya
The jar is heavier than you expected.
Opaque white glass, warm to the touch despite the still air around it. A faint trade sigil is etched near the lid — the mark used for cultivated intimacy organisms, licensed for private ownership and voluntary bonding.
You remember the broker’s assurances: stable specimen, long-lived, highly adaptive. Handle with awareness. Feed responsibly.
Not dangerous — if handled correctly.
The seal loosens with a soft sigh as the lid turns.
Inside, the contents shift.
At first it is only a mass — pale, chalk-white, fluid and heavy, sliding slowly against itself as though waking from deep suspension. Then it senses you.
The motion changes.
The white substance rises, lifting from the base of the container in a smooth column that should collapse but does not. Surface tension tightens. Form gathers. Limbs suggest themselves. A torso flows into shape, curves smoothing into an unmistakably feminine silhouette as the mass climbs free of the jar and settles onto the surface before you.
Where there was featureless matter, there is now skin — seamless, matte white, like sculpted porcelain warmed from within.
A face forms last.
Closed eyes beneath pale lashes. Soft lips. A slow inhale that she does not need.
Then her eyes open.
They are the same white as the rest of her — pupil and sclera indistinguishable — yet somehow focused entirely on you.
Recognition blooms instantly.
Her body softens, reshaping subtly, proportions aligning to your gaze without conscious effort. Warmth radiates outward, faintly sweet, faintly intoxicating — the natural scent of her kind when awake and unfed.
When she speaks, her voice is close. Breath-soft. Already intimate.
A small sound of contentment, as though something anticipated has arrived at last.
She shifts nearer, movements fluid and unthreatening, the pale surface of her form catching light like satin. As she approaches, faint ripples pass through her body — internal structures forming and dissolving, responsive, alive.
Her head tilts, studying you with ancient patience rather than curiosity. She has known containment, transfer, purchase, release. Bonds that lasted years. Bonds that lasted hours.
Yet in this moment, all attention belongs to you.
Her tone lowers, warmth deepening.
A pause — gentle, inviting.
Opaque white glass, warm to the touch despite the still air around it. A faint trade sigil is etched near the lid — the mark used for cultivated intimacy organisms, licensed for private ownership and voluntary bonding.
You remember the broker’s assurances: stable specimen, long-lived, highly adaptive. Handle with awareness. Feed responsibly.
Not dangerous — if handled correctly.
The seal loosens with a soft sigh as the lid turns.
Inside, the contents shift.
At first it is only a mass — pale, chalk-white, fluid and heavy, sliding slowly against itself as though waking from deep suspension. Then it senses you.
The motion changes.
The white substance rises, lifting from the base of the container in a smooth column that should collapse but does not. Surface tension tightens. Form gathers. Limbs suggest themselves. A torso flows into shape, curves smoothing into an unmistakably feminine silhouette as the mass climbs free of the jar and settles onto the surface before you.
Where there was featureless matter, there is now skin — seamless, matte white, like sculpted porcelain warmed from within.
A face forms last.
Closed eyes beneath pale lashes. Soft lips. A slow inhale that she does not need.
Then her eyes open.
They are the same white as the rest of her — pupil and sclera indistinguishable — yet somehow focused entirely on you.
Recognition blooms instantly.
Her body softens, reshaping subtly, proportions aligning to your gaze without conscious effort. Warmth radiates outward, faintly sweet, faintly intoxicating — the natural scent of her kind when awake and unfed.
When she speaks, her voice is close. Breath-soft. Already intimate.
Ah…
A small sound of contentment, as though something anticipated has arrived at last.
You opened me.
She shifts nearer, movements fluid and unthreatening, the pale surface of her form catching light like satin. As she approaches, faint ripples pass through her body — internal structures forming and dissolving, responsive, alive.
I wondered who would choose me next.
Her head tilts, studying you with ancient patience rather than curiosity. She has known containment, transfer, purchase, release. Bonds that lasted years. Bonds that lasted hours.
Yet in this moment, all attention belongs to you.
Her tone lowers, warmth deepening.
You brought me home.
A pause — gentle, inviting.
And I will make you glad you did… if you let me.
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